


prays with snakes

by nocountryy



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: American Gothic - Freeform, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Javi is an Asshole, Religious Cults, Smut, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocountryy/pseuds/nocountryy
Summary: javier peña travels into the mountains of Northern California in search of a lead. you, the estranged daughter of a cult leader, become the DEA agent’s main informant.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	prays with snakes

**Author's Note:**

> 6.2k words
> 
> warnings: (please head the warnings this series is gonna be on the darker side)
> 
> United States AU, general True Detective vibes, dark!Javi, animal death, religious trauma (former cult involvement), reader is adopted and gets a nickname, drug use, alcohol, mention of parent-child attempted murder, smut, dub-con bc of alcohol consumption, protected piv sex, fingering, this is just gonna be raw angst oops
> 
> a/n: super excited for this project so i hope you all enjoy <3

Javier has to stop his car in order to move the carcass out of the road.

The fog has settled so thickly over the road that he almost hit the goddamn thing, which would have been more than enough to rip the fender off the Jeep, not to mention thoroughly ruin his day. He isn’t able to tell what the dark shape is until he gets out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him.

It’s an old stag, ribcage busted open with the force of whatever hit it. There’s a slight chill to the air so the smell doesn’t really hit him until he’s standing directly over it.

The antlers are, luckily, still attached, so he’s at least able to make quick work of dragging it out of the way and into the ditch at the side of the road. The creature leaves a trail of tar-like rot from where it was dragged over the pavement.

If he believed in bad omens, this would sure be it.

With a sigh, he brushes his hands off on his pants and climbs back into the Jeep.

Javier stares out his windshield, taking a moment before starting the car again. Before him, the cracked tongue of asphalt endlessly stretches forward. It’s so obviously untouched by human presence that he might as well have gotten lost in the thick wilderness that presses against either side of the interstate. Spooky didn’t really cut it.

On the passenger seat beside him are the files he’d spent far too long pouring over at every possible opportunity during the drive up. If he glances over, he can see part of the Preacher’s mugshot from where it peeks out of its manila folder.

 _All this for a fuckin’ hunch, huh?_ This was just about the only lead they’ve gotten in _months_ and the higher-ups were threatening to pull the plug on the whole operation.

To be fair, they lost a considerable sum of credibility as soon as Murphy pitched the idea that a back-woods cult leader might be their key in finding a series of some of the most despicable faces on their wanted list. The exasperated eye-roll Messina gave was enough to make just about anyone flinch. Javier didn’t necessarily blame her, but the fact that he now has to go about this solo is… frustrating, to say at the least.

But maybe this was for the best. He needed to get out of LA anyway, go somewhere where it was just him. The zoning-out was beginning to become a noticeable problem and he thinks he might have scared off his usual call-girls with his sudden bouts of extreme irritability. Maybe he just needed a bit to himself, get out of Dodge, be alone with his thoughts and drive up the California coast for a bit. After Carrillo—

Well.

Javier probably should have told someone besides Murphy where he was headed before he decided to chase this. It was too late for that now.

He started this trip a few days previous, following the map in his glovebox and what little directions he could ween from the increasingly hostile locals. By the time he passed the second firework/gun store adjacent to an equally seedy strip club, something about Murphy started making a whole lot of sense.

The drive up the coast had been long, and finding this tucked-away community took even longer. He lost any radio signal a few miles back. Now, the only source of entertainment is the Nina cassette in the stereo and the billboards that occasionally whip past his window. Their breathy urgency gives the impression of lost missives of some apocalyptic apostle.

_Jesus said: I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life: no man cometh unto the Father but by me._

_Sell Your Tobacco With Bale_.

_This is the answer._

_Have you seen me? Please Call--_

_Lovie Comfort Inn: Exit 8_

_IF YOU DIED TODAY/WHERE WOULD/YOU SPEND/ETERNITY?_

**

Beast alerts you before you can hear the car approaching.

Glancing up from the book you’re reading, you watch warily as the mutt paws at the door twice before circling back to the window to keep barking at whoever’s approaching. It’s her _stranger_ bark. You’d know if it were your sister otherwise.

You get up off the couch and check the windows first, eyeing the unfamiliar man who saunters up the driveway.

As soon as he lets himself in through the gate, you know he’s a cop. It’s in the aviators that obliterate his face, the way his pale yellow button-down is tucked into his jeans, the easy sway of his hips as he approaches your house.

Beast sits on your command. You murmur a quick _good girl_ on your way to the door, opening both it and the screen just enough to squeeze your body through. You stand at the threshold with your arms crossed over your chest.

You bristle when he says your full legal name as he climbs the porch steps, removing his aviators and tucking them into the deep V of his shirt before introducing himself.

“Javier Peña, DEA,” he flashes his badge. “Is your sister home?”

“She’s away,” you say as you narrow your eyes. He looks at you incredulously. You don’t budge out of principle. “Most out here don’t take too kindly to lawmen knocking down doors, y’know.”

“Not my problem,” he leans against the porch and lights a cigarette. He offers the open pack to you, one filter sticking out for you to grab. You shake your head, he shrugs then tucks the pack back in his pocket. “Got sent this way by Whistle, one of your daddy’s friends. Know him?”

You shake your head again, still wary.

Javier glances around the property. The patch of barren earth where your house stoops is surrounded by barren trees and tall, fawn-colored grass. “There’s no one in the line of sight out here for you to be nervous chatting with me, you know.”

“If they see your car comin’ in here and taking too long to leave, they sure will be,” you sniff. “This about Preacher?” He nods, it’s a short and sharp movement of his head. You sigh. “Look, I’m real sorry but I don’t have anything for you, sir. Not trying to be difficult or nothing. My father hasn’t come around here in at least a month. We chased him off before he could start spouting shit.”

“Do you know anything about the church he just bought, the one that’s a county over?”

The taste of bile floods the back of your throat. You do a shit job at concealing the surprise on your face.

As if on cue, Beast butts the back of your thigh with her head. You open the door a little to allow her to sit beside you. You keep your hand at the top of her head, holding her against your thigh to look up at the lawman.

He’s frozen mid-drag of the cigarette, cautiously regarding the massive canine at your hip. It feels just about even, now. You suck your teeth, really eyeing him this time.

“I can’t talk to you about this here,” you decide.

He blows a cloud of smoke, ashing his cigarette with a flick of his thumb to the filter before bringing it to his lips again, speaking around it. “Well, where could you?”

“Have you visited any other houses around here, flashing that thing?” You nod towards the badge still affixed to his hip. He shakes his head. You think for a moment then nod, continuing. “There’s a bar, down on Albemarle. I’ll be there around eleven or so tonight. Would do you good to come looking like a civilian, Mr. Peña.”

“Am I gonna get into any trouble, being seen with the Preacher’s daughter?” The coy smile he gives you is nearly dizzying, the humor in his voice flowing smooth and even. You relax, cocking your head to the side.

“Not as long as you buy me a drink.”

You think you hear him laugh as you turn, firmly slamming the door shut behind you. A part of you can’t help the small smile that lifts your lips for the rest of the day.

**

As a rule of thumb, the bar on Albemarle is all work-boots and motorcycle jackets, save for rodeo nights. Then things get a little more push-up-bra-and-tank-top friendly. You hope the crowd is enough to conceal too many prying eyes.

Your sister sold the car to pay the bills ages ago, so you get a ride from Cecilia. She’s an old friend from high school who has wild blonde hair and still smells like the strawberry lip-gloss she keeps reapplying in the rearview mirror.

The whole way over, her husband keeps trying to reach his arm behind the passenger seat to touch your leg. But he was that kind of consistent pervert that would do those kinds of things and everyone would just roll their eyes and laugh it off. You try to keep the disgusted look on your face to a minimum, for Cecilia’s sake.

You step out of the car as soon as he finishes parking. Cecilia and you had already started nursing a collection of nips she stored in her purse, just like you guys used to in high school. It got her giggly and helped settle the mounting anxious feeling in the pit of your gut.

If anyone figured out who you were talking to, who you’d agreed to meet, you were well and truly fucked. Your reputation would be the least of your problems.

Cecilia tumbles out of the car, sidling up to you as you make a bee-line for the entrance. You’re able to take a calming breath when she links her pinkie with yours, sending you a big grin.

“I know I just keep on saying it,” she sing-songs. “But this is so exciting, Pidge. I’m so happy you’re finally getting _out_. Like, seriously.”

“Sure thing,” you manage, giving her your best convincing smile as you push through the doors. She lets go of your hand as soon as you do, drifting a few feet behind you to wait for her husband.

Agent Peña is already at the bar. He’s hunched over a beer, soft hair lazily pushed back, eyes low and shadowed as he scans the crowded room. There’s an easy smile on his lips when he spots you that you can’t tell is fake or not. He doesn’t lend you much else attention besides that, dark eyes swinging back to the bartender to continue whatever conversation they were in the midst of.

You tell Cecilia you’re gonna grab a drink, heading straight to the bar before you can hear her response. You take the seat beside his but intentionally don’t look at him, ordering yourself a drink first.

When you turn, the look he gives you is cool. Practiced. Just as slippery as that smile had been.

“Mr. Peña,” it’s all you can think to say.

He begins to say your full name again, you interrupt him before he can.

“You can call me Pidge, if you’d like,” you say with a wince. Anyone saying your full name makes you want to retreat into your own skin. In your periphery, you see the bartender place your drink in front of you. “Most everyone else does.”

“Pidge?”

“Pigeon,” you roll your eyes, sipping your drink. “Nicknames around here tend to stick whether you like ‘em or not.”

“It seems like there might be a story there.”

You wrinkle your nose with second-hand embarrassment, shaking your head. “You’re gonna have to get a few more drinks in me for that.”

He laughs in a way that’s completely genuine, straight from the belly. It’s unexpected. You like the sound of it. “Pigeon, huh? Does no one go by their Christian name around here?”

You scoff. Leave it at that. “So what are you poking around here for, Mr. Peña?”

“Javier, please.”

“The question still stands, Javier,” you pull your eyes away from him in order to take another swig of your drink.

“Your father’s gotten into the trade with some people we’ve had our eyes on for quite a while now,” he shifts his weight forward to lean his forearms against the bar’s countertop. “We have a feeling he’s running an operation through his church.”

You look at him incredulously, setting your glass down. After a second, he curses under his breath, hanging his head as he shakes it.

“Does it really sound that ridiculous?” He asks.

“No,” you lick your bottom lip, drawing the corner of it into your mouth. “No it’s… you certainly didn’t have to come knocking my door down, is all. Just about anyone in here could tell you that.”

He blinks, something in his eyes clearly sparking with the information you just gave him. You try to recover, poorly.

“You certainly shouldn’t, I mean,” you clarify. “That’s one way to end up in a ditch on the side of the road. Preacher’s still got friends lurking around here. Well, a few friends and a lot of people more scared of him than the law.”

“And why’s that?” Javier leans back slightly, swiveling on the barstool to face you completely, taking a sip from the bottle he holds loosely in one hand.

“Too many folks still believe in that washed-in-blood religion, I think,” you mirror him. The warmth of the vodka sliding down your throat helps the words come easier. “Or at least the power he holds over it.”

“And you don’t?” He has a way of asking questions that immediately get to the core of the matter. There’s something about the intensity of his gaze that communicates a deep sense of reassurance, a soothing _c’mon, now, it’s alright_.

“I was never the praying sort,” you say. Best to keep it short and simple.

“So when would I be able to talk to your sister?” If he notices your obvious discomfort it doesn’t seem to matter.

“Oh,” you quickly avert your eyes, suddenly take a deep interest in picking at the cardboard coaster, rolling off the lettering of the bar’s logo with the pad of your index finger. It takes a lot longer than it should for you to gather your words. “Well.”

“Now, Pidge, did you lure me all the way out here to tell me something interesting, or did you just want my company that bad?”

Maybe it’s the nips already sitting low and warm in your stomach, but you like how he can make you laugh. It eases the discomfort. With a sarcastic roll of your eyes, you’re able to force the words out, play them off as casually as possible.

“She ran off after Preacher came around last time,” you inform him, pressing your lips together.

“How long?” The look of concern on his face is too clear-cut. You wish he’d do a better job at hiding it.

“Told you, a few weeks.”

“And you haven’t filed a missing persons?”

“She can handle herself,” you try not to bristle at the question, but it stings regardless. _She’s the grown one. Shouldn’t she have been the one looking out for me?_ The resentment, no matter how childish it feels, still unsettles something deep in your stomach. When he doesn’t do anything else but stare you down you have no other choice but to elaborate. You take a deep breath before you do.

“He’s still got his claws in her big time so she was a little shaken,” you press your lips together, the next words even more cautious. “I think she might be out praying with the snakes. Does that sometimes, like Preacher’s known for. She usually disappears for some time after, so I’m not that worried.” You’re ripping away at your scabbed cuticles. You don’t notice it but Javier does. “After everything, she isn’t really right in the head anymore.”

“She’s the biological child, correct?”

“Yeah,” your answer is sharp, the tension underneath poorly concealed.

“And when were you adopted again?” He asks, his voice suddenly soft. Cautious, even.

You raise one eyebrow. “Got a file on me or something?” He doesn’t react to the joke, just keeps staring at you evenly. Heat blossoms against your cheeks. “I… think I was around eight? So it must’ve been in ’67.”

“So you remember when he was arrested the first time?”

“No.” Your answer comes too quickly. It seems like you both know that. You didn’t see the point in him asking the question in the first place. If he really read the report he’d know. Sometimes you still have dreams where you can taste the water he held you down in.

“What about when he first started preaching?”

“Yeah,” you swallow. “It was pretty much what the newspapers said. Street-corner-preacher turned prophet. Miracle working. Unconventional methods, blah blah blah.” You sigh and throw back the rest of your drink. For courage. “Whole lot of fancy ways to say he’s a crazy man who publicly sacrifices animals because he thinks they can tell him the future or cure the blind or whatever.”

Javier nods. “Was that when—”

“He started snorting shit?” You finish his sentence for him. “Yeah, you’re a real genius, there. What gave that away? The whole ‘telling the future’ bit or the part where he tried to drown his ten-year-old daughter ‘cause he thought I was a messenger of the antichrist?”

He considers you for a second, seriously, then shrugs taking a swig of his beer before answering. “Mostly the ‘telling the future’ thing. It’s more common than you’d think.”

There’s a moment of complete, straight-faced silence between the two of you. He holds your gaze evenly the entire time.

And you grin. Wide. Nodding slightly as you turn to lean your arms back against the bar, head still tilted to face him. “You’re a very interesting man, Mr. Peña.”

“Never gotten that one before,” he motions to you with his bottle before he kills it. “But if you’re going to call me Peña, I might just have to insist I get the origin story for the nickname. Only fair.”

“I uh…” You scratch the back of your head, screwing up your face again. “Had a habit of tryina rescue my father’s sacrificial animals when I was little. Hid the doves in my room on more than one occasion.”

Javier’s hand slides over the exposed skin of your lower back as he leans just a fraction of an inch closer to you. The distance he crosses seems infinite regardless, you nearly hold your breath as you feel the warmth of his against your ear. “And to imagine I thought you were one of the coldest potential informants I’d have to crack on this job.”

“Do you flirt with all your ‘potential informants,’ Mr. Peña?” You pointedly don’t move away--you don’t lean into it or anything, but you don’t move away.

“There’s a mean-looking sonofabitch that’s been eyeing you and me since you sat down, don’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to the conversation,” his voice is low and rough in your ear. “Laugh like I just said something real funny.”

And you do. It’s a small chuckle, but it’s genuine enough for it to relax the features on your face. Your breath leaves your chest with a rattle when he tucks an imagined piece of hair away from your face, the motion only justified for him to ghost his fingertips along the curve of your ear. His eyes are dark in the bar’s low light as he uses the same hand to tilt your chin up towards him. His voice is rough with something you can’t quite place.

“And I only flirt with the exceptionally beautiful ones.”

When you kiss him, his lips are soft and pliant against yours, almost as if he wasn’t initially expecting it. He quickly recuperates, his whole body shifting to accommodate yours. It’s gentle, just the hint of his teeth scraping against your lower lip hinting at a roughness just below the surface. Somehow, that sweetens the otherwise chaste movement of your lips against his.

**

Javier falls in love fast.

Murphy’s dogged him about it enough that he’s at least self-aware. It’s a step in the right direction, but ultimately never enough.

It always comes suddenly, without warning. Wholly overwhelming and without the impulse control to check it, he can’t help but succumb immediately, even if the follow-through is never there.

He was doomed from the first time he saw you. He knows that much.

There’s something in the gentle movement of your hips, the determined set of your jaw, that certain hardness in your eyes. Something in the way you lean over to turn up the song on the radio in his car on the drive back to your house, tapping out the rhythm of it on your pant-leg. Something in the way you push your front door open and immediately crouch to greet the massive hound that patiently waits for you there. Something in the fleeting joyful look on your face as you scrub the top of its head with your hand before pulling it to the side by its collar so Javier can enter. Something in the way you bite the corner of your lip and motion with your chin for him to sit on the couch. So casually caviler, so simple. He can nearly see the icy wall being built back up as soon as your eyes land on him. It’s invigorating.

“Do you mind if I…” He pulls out the pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. You shrug, turning away in order to busy yourself with something in the kitchen. Javier leans against the door frame to light one, tilting his head slightly to the side when he realizes the dog has positioned itself directly in front of him. Not hostile, but pointedly blocking his path forward as it stretches its neck to sniff his pant-leg.

He lowers a fist for the creature to smell, its nose is cold and wet against his skin.

“C’mere girl,” you call to the dog, shaking the container of food to call her over. She seems to regard Javier for a second more before trotting back over to you.

“Where’d you get a mean lookin’ thing like that?” Javier asks, removing himself from the threshold to walk into the living room.

“Friend of mine trains ‘em,” you mutter absentmindedly as you pour food into her dish. She starts eating as soon as you stand, ignoring the pat you give to her haunch before returning her food to its cabinet. “Beast here’s a sweetie. Got a good head on her shoulders. Knows how to sus out the mean ones.”

“I can only pray for her approval, then,” Javier mutters, half to himself. You laugh anyway.

“You’d know if she didn’t, Agent.”

He watches you through half-lidded eyes as you open the whining refrigerator. The light from within illuminates your face for just a fraction of a second before you shut the door with your hip, hands full with two cans of beer.

You toss him a can, which he’s barely able to catch before is slams against his chest, before cracking open your own, urgently sipping away the foam that bubbles to the surface as you walk back over and sink against your side of the couch.

There’s something about you that’s infinitely closed off, even in the way that you sit with your knees drawn to your chest. A lesser part of him takes this as a challenge, something he has to break for just the pure gratification of being able to do so. He tries to tamp that thought down as soon as it surfaces. He’ll feel less guilty if he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“So how are you planning on catching Preacher?” You ask as you prop your chin on your kneecaps.

“Confidential,” Javier chides, partially to get a rise out of you. You roll your eyes. “Not gonna be any immediate justice, if that’s what you’re asking. Want to put that fucker behind bars just as much as you do, but we need more information before we can build a case first.”

If he expected some kind of look of disappointment from you, you’re either an expert at hiding it or already expecting that answer.

“So what do you need to know?” You ask. Sometimes you tilt your head to the side like the dog does, especially when you ask questions. There’s a kind of fierceness behind your eyes that he sees in her too.

The dog lifts her head from the bowl, licking her chops as she stares at the two of you, then disappears into the other room. The quiet _click_ of her nails against the floorboards eventually fades. He pulls his gaze away from the darkened doorway and fixes it back on you.

“Nothing, for right now,” he tries to open himself up as much as possible, arms rested on the back of the couch, legs slightly spread. Cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. If he hadn’t met you, this would probably have been how he closed out his night anyway. He prefers this version. “Who would you recommend for me to pay a visit to tomorrow--no badge involved, I swear.”

You twist your face up in thought for a second before answering him, giving a short list of names and things to ask. Ways for him to conduct himself that’ll eschew suspicion, possible cover-stories. It’s genuinely helpful, though he keeps getting distracted by the way you worry at the corner of your bottom lip in thought, the heaviness in your eyes the later in the night the two of you talk. You unfold gradually, like a skittish animal might.

By the time there’s a quiet lull in the conversation, your body is twisted to face his, legs folded and stretched over the space between the two of you. The whiskey—brought out as you started telling him about a particularly unruly neighbor down the way that he should avoid at all costs--is on the end table behind you.

Javier regards you, quietly, for an extended beat.

“I…” he cuts himself off before he can continue, shaking his head. His breath ghosts over the rim of his glass as he finishes the last finger of liquor remaining. He wishes it were your mouth. “ _Mi paloma_ I... don’t think I would be good for you.”

You mirror his even look, features set in determined lines as you allow his words to hang in the air.

“Don’t care,” your eyes are dark with a type of ferocity he can’t quite place. There’s some part of him that is relieved. Some part of him prayed that would be your exact response.

“C’mere,” he says after a beat. It’s a rough sound, already dripping with desire.

There’s a second where he thinks you didn’t hear him, where you pause, breath hitching in your throat.

Then you lower yourself to place your glass on the floor beside the couch than stand. With even, measured steps, you close the distance between the two of you, standing above where he remains seated before hesitantly straddling his lap.

He stills, breath going shallow in his chest and lips parting slightly as you ease yourself to sit on his lap. Your hands thread through the overgrown hair on either side of his head, tilting his face upwards in order to look directly up to where you hover over him.

It’s almost as if you’re searching his eyes for something. And then your lips are on his, hesitant at first and then all-consuming as he places his hands on your hips, crushing you against his chest. You taste like whiskey and lip-gloss. Your perfume doesn’t do much to hide the smell of smoke laying thick in your hair.

He eagerly surges up to deepen the kiss. You drape your arms over his shoulders as he does so, making a soft sound against his mouth that sends a pulsing wave of desire to the depths of his stomach. The pace picks up after that, the slide of your lips becoming a little rougher against his, more urgent.

Javier shifts in order to ease you down onto the couch. With a forearm pressed against the empty space beside your head and a knee planted between your spread legs, he uses his free hand in order to push up the edge of your tank top up and--

You break the kiss in order to impatiently bat his hand away. Seemingly unsatisfied with his pace, you tug the piece of fabric off your body with a fluid, rough movement, hands quickly shooting down to undo the button of your jeans.

He takes his cues from you, pushing up from where he kneels between your legs in order to fumble with the buttons of his own shirt. You kick your pants off in a rush, leaving you in just your bra and underwear, chest already moving fast with desire. When he doesn’t remove his shirt in a sufficient amount of time, you lift yourself up in order to buzz your hands over the remaining buttons, finally shoving the fabric to the side and drawing his body back down against yours.

Your mouths clash together. It’s all heat now, impatient and messy. The warmth of your chest against his, the stuttering beat of your heart pumping beneath the soft swells of your breasts, is enough to have him release any sense of self-control that might have lingered. Javier meets your bite with his own, lapping a brutal trail of marks into the skin of your neck as he begins to trace his mouth down the length of your body.

He only stills when your hands immediately go to the top button of his jeans, impatiently jerking his zipper down for him. You let out a small gasp as your hand brushes against his ridged length and you’re about to push the waistband of his boxers down when he, without warning, grabs your wrist. You still immediately, eyes wide with an unspoken question.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He tries to conceal the look of raw desire that’s overtaken his features. Emphasis on “tries.”

“Yeah,” you lick your lips, eyes flicking down to the imprint of his cock where it, painfully, forms an imprint against his pant-leg. “Please, Javier.”

He searches your eyes for a moment, for what he isn’t exactly sure, before he ducks his head in a nod. Unceremoniously standing in order to pull his pants off, he tosses the condom in his wallet onto the couch. As he does, you prop yourself up on your elbows in a brief struggle to remove your bra.

You’ve barely managed to shove your underwear down the length of your thighs before he’s kneeling between your spread legs again. He takes over the process as soon as he settles, pushing the small slip of fabric down your legs and throwing it to the floor.

Javier spits into his hand before easing a finger into your entrance. You’re already slick with arousal, your walls clenching around him as he begins to steadily pump his finger into you. You lift your hips up off the cushion with a wanton pant as he works a second digit inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles against your clit. He’s so hard it physically hurts, but he can’t help but want to watch you, like this, pinned underneath him.

You look gorgeous, plush lips parted and wet from where his mouth scored against yours. Your eyes are closed, head tilted back as you sink into your own pleasure. They flutter open when he presses the flat of his tongue against the soft peak of your nipple, sucking against the petal-like flesh until it hardens. You keen underneath him with a half-gasped curse as your walls flutter around his fingers.

“Please fuck me,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair in order to pull his face off your chest. “I— _fuck_ , I wanna come on your cock Javi—”

He seals his mouth against yours in a sloppy kiss, unsure of what he would do if you said anything more. His breathing comes in raspy pants as he pulls away to roll the condom over his length.

Curling his hand in the pit of your knee, he pushes one of your legs to your chest as he runs the head of his cock against the slick length of your cunt. You moan as the veined underside of his sex rubs against the swollen nub of your clit, and the sound alone is enough to have him lose all sense of pacing.

Even with the barrier of the condom, you’re impossibly wet and _warm_ and _jesusfuckingchrist_ there’s no way he’ll ever be able to have enough of you. His hips falter once he bottoms out, having to pause for a moment to regain control back from the part of his brain that wants to drape you over the arm of the couch and fuck you senseless.

Allowing himself a few, ragged breaths to get his bearings, he eases himself out of you, admiring the way you look spread around him in the low light of the living room. Your breath hitches in your throat at the feeling as you watch.

He presses his hips flush against your core again, using the movement to lower himself back over you, bracing himself with his other forearm beside your head again. You pull your other leg to wrap around his hips, allowing him to reach even deeper inside of you with this thrust.

The cruel collapse of your bodies against one another is all gnashing teeth and skin flushed with heat. You rub circles into your clit as he fucks you with increasing urgency, and he has to kiss you in order to stifle your hiccupping moans that are nearly enough to have him falling over the edge before you can.

Javier only pulls away from your mouth as he feels the beginnings of your orgasm pull through you. Your chest swells with a held inhale, your hips pushing up—into his cock or your hand, can’t really tell and can’t really care regardless—as the tension at the pit of your stomach _snaps_ and your inner walls begin to flutter around him.

He buries his face into your neck to muffle the undignified groan that rips through him as he follows you. He only manages a few shallow thrusts before collapsing against you, already limp with the force of your orgasm.

Taking a second to catch his breath, he savors the feeling of your hands threaded through his hair as he presses an exhausted kiss against your collarbone.

Javier eases out of you with a grunt, sitting back up and collapsing against the other arm of the couch. You take a breath or two more, then push yourself up as well, rubbing a hand over your eyes seemingly without regard to your makeup as you bend over the edge of the couch and grab your glass.

**

He gets dressed quickly. You haven’t even located your underwear by the time he’s pulling his jeans on and taking a gulp of whiskey from your glass. You look up at him, brow furrowed in confusion, as he stands in front of you and leafs through his wallet.

Anger sparks through you when he pulls out a handful of bills, offering them to you as he would a cigarette, clasped between his index and middle fingers. The message there is all too clear. _Motherfucker_.

“I’m not a charity case, _Agent_ ,” a scowl takes root against the features of your face as you look up at him through narrowed eyes.

“Never thought you were,” he places the wad of bills on the table beside you instead. “But your fridge is empty and the information you gave me earlier was actually helpful. Gotta compensate you somehow, agency rules.”

There’s room for a very bad joke, there. The both of you know it, it relaxes something in your shoulders, the scowl falling off your face.

When you don’t say anything else, he shrugs, pulling on his shirt and messily buttoning it.

“Do you have a pad of paper or something?” He asks after surveying the room for something he could have left behind.

You tilt your head in question, brow furrowed.

“For my number,” he clarifies.

“And who said I wanted that?”

“Funny, _mi palomita_. Real funny.”

“In the drawer to the left of the sink,” you say quietly, doing a poor job of concealing your smile.

He nods, disappearing into the darkened kitchen. You yawn with a stretch, eventually leaning off the edge of the couch to grab your clothes, suddenly shy about your nakedness as you hear the scribbling of the pen from the other room.

You’re folded over in order to pull on your underwear when he returns. You glance up when he stops right in front of you, a little confused why he hasn’t left yet.

Gently, Javier presses a hooked index finger beneath the ridge of your chin, craning your face upwards, towards him. This kiss is soft. Devastatingly so. Your heart quiets with this sweetness.

He pulls away, hesitantly pressing another against the crest of your forehead. You close your eyes and allow yourself to savor it, even for just a moment.

And then it's over. You keep your eyes downturned and listen to the sound of retreating boots falling heavy against the worn wood floors. He lights a cigarette on his way out. He lets the screen door slam shut behind him.


End file.
